


sonnets

by memento_amare



Series: old work (from Tumblr) [10]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Abstract, Angst, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26406232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memento_amare/pseuds/memento_amare
Summary: a collection of songs, from my heart to yours[a drabble collection from tumblr]
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Reader, Hinata Shouyou/Reader, Kageyama Tobio/Reader, Kuroo Tetsurou/Reader, Miya Atsumu/Reader, Nishinoya Yuu/Reader, Oikawa Tooru/Reader, Sawamura Daichi/Reader, Terushima Yuuji/Reader
Series: old work (from Tumblr) [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1911856
Kudos: 44





	1. details of the sunset (n. yuu)

“noya,” you nudge his arm. “we went here to watch the sunset.”

“but babe,” he pouts, “i love watching you, too.”

the sunset hides the blush that blooms on your cheeks. you smack his shoulder. “you wanted to come here, dumdum.” he just laughs in reply, lacing your fingers together before resting them on the ground.

“yeah, i know. but you like sunsets.”

“damn, i thought i finally converted you too.” he grins when he hears your faint chuckle. 

he casts you a glance, admiring the way the light shines molten on your skin. the world is awash in warmth, oranges and pinks tinged with golden yellow and scarlet red.

you raise an eyebrow. “are you converted yet?”

“hmmm…” he pretends to think. “maybe I’m starting to see the appeal now.” you laugh at that, and he notes it as sunset pink, etching it in his memory. the kiss you press to his cheek is a final hurrah as the day gives way to the night.

one day he’ll paint your love in the colors of a sunset sky. he’ll learn how to leave pieces of it in the sunbeams of each day’s end, notes for you to unfold when the darkness comes.


	2. haunted (s. daichi)

there are songs left unsung and words unsaid, little pieces of what-if’s that come in the quiet of the night. they shine in the twilight, little fingerprints that can only be traced to you. 

he tries his best, he really does. he brings you the warmth of midnight embraces and sweet morning kisses. he is steadfast and true, a house built on solid ground, but you’re a wanderer who has never known home.

there is something strange about you: an alertness, a habit of always looking behind your back. he should have listened to his instincts, but he blinded himself in his love.

you leave faster than you came, bags already packed when you realize that he knows of the gun in your drawer. nothing can be found of you, no documents or traces, save for a picture when you were three years old.

it a case left unresolved; you leave his soul a crime scene. ghosts of laughter echo off hollow walls, but there is no one there. the last memory he has is only an apology and a final plea: do not follow me.


	3. starry night (o. tooru)

for as long as you can remember, your best friend has been obsessed with aliens. glow-in-the-dark stickers are still tacked on his bedroom ceiling (they’ve been there since your childhood), and there’s an alien print on seventy-five percent of his casual sweaters.

you still indulge him, even after all these years; long hours of listening to wild conspiracy theories, punctuated by flailing arms and breathless exclamations. afterward, you flick his forehead, saying that his ideas are much too wild to be considered plausible. he just pouts.

still, there’s a little something in your eyes, moonbeams of soft adoration that spill out of your irises.

iwaizumi knows. you realize it in the amused and slightly exasperated glance he’s send your way. it sends you into a panic, of course; the notion of years of friendship crumbling to dust in the wake of some stupid feelings for your childhood friend. 

when you finally confront hajime, he merely flicks your forehead.

“you’re both shitty idiots.”

“hey!”

he’s just tired of his best friends skirting around their feelings, and more tired of having to be the one to witness it all.

you, on the other hand, are perfectly content (or so you’d like to convince yourself) with stargazing at a distance.

(though you’d gladly travel all the light years it would take to reach his heart.)

“any new conspiracy theories, then? i’ll only take believable ones.”

he pouts. “haven’t i converted you after all these years?”

“no, but nice try.” 

“how mean.” he harrumphs. you roll your eyes, though there’s a smile that tugs on your face. you return your gaze to the stars, while he steals a glance from the corner of his eye.

he’ll never tell you, but he’ll gladly make a million conspiracy theories about the way you make his heart beat faster than the spin of a pulsar. he’ll explore the universe that resides beyond your irises, galaxies and star systems enough to last him a lifetime.


	4. the heart's speed dial (h. shouyou)

his new reality coalesces in moments: messages read after eight hours and not eight seconds, posts on social media from halfway across the world, unfamiliar words that tumble clumsily from his tongue. it’s something he can’t quite comprehend just yet.

hinata being hinata, however, his instincts always find him coming back to what is most familiar. 

“shou?” your voice is slightly marred with static from an ocean away. 

he hears a light yawn, and a twinge of guilt tugs at his stomach. “sorry, y/n-chan. did i wake you?”

“no, s’alright.” your words slur together, still hazy around the edges, despite your reassurance. “what’s up?”

it’s simply that he seeks you out like it’s muscle memory, a practice so ingrained that he doesn’t even think about it. you’re the first his heart calls for anything and everything.

“… shou?”

“wha—oh! sorry, sorry.” 

“what’s up?” you repeat your question.

there’s nothing that comes to him, nothing that he can say except i thought about you or i miss you.

(and there’s so many risks, so many grey areas that will blur even further if he says that.)

he whispers a soft, “i don’t know,” the most honest response he can give, for now.

truly, though, he doesn’t know what’s up—how things are changing so quickly, yet among those epiphanies there is you, and the realization that his feelings haven’t changed but were there this whole time.

a part of shouyou braces for you to be mad, to scold him for interrupting your sleep—he just checked the time in japan, it’s 1:38 am—but all the comes out of the other line is a breathy laugh.

there’s a shifting on the other line, possibly you sitting up, before you speak again. “alright then. what do you wanna talk about?”


	5. starry night [#2] (m. atsumu)

you’ve always thought of him as distant; a star to be admired from afar. it reflects in his nearly inhuman work ethic: self-imposed practices that would probably stretch to who-knows-how-long if you didn’t have to lock away the gym every night. after a while, he began to insist on accompanying you home for the trouble.

walks home become conversations become chats; from light years he becomes a planet within reach. his general presence is slowly growing to be routine, and you’re not quite sure how to feel about that.

(you’re also not quite sure what to feel about him drunk-calling you of all people, or the fact that you still dropped everything to pick him up.)

the amber streetlight frames your features in a golden glow. there is only the silence brought about by the lack of people in this late of an hour. overhead, the stars seem to be shining just a little bit brighter (or perhaps that’s his drunken haze). something in him twinges, an uncharacteristic ache in his chest. alcohol loosens his tongue, just enough to unlock the little bits of stardust he’d for so long been wanting to say. without thinking, the words stumble from his mouth

“yer pretty.” his head lolls on your shoulder, resting on the crook of your neck. 

your mind blanks. the only words you can manage are, “and you’re drunk.”

“mmm…” the lips that hit the base of your jaw are soft, the breath that follows warm. “jus’ take me home.” despite your best efforts, your breath hitches. still, you try to keep your voice steady.

“I can never really say no to you.”


	6. lost and found (a. keiji)

journeys are riddled with dead ends and potholes, punctuated by the inevitability of things left behind. you have each drawn the line between lost and wandering, but more often than not, it drifts between one and the other.

the destination is there, but awfully vague.

such doubts come in the coils of night, whispered 2am calls and shared quarter-life crises. there is comfort you find in each other, a shared sense of aimlessness in the path of life.

there are pieces of him that have been tucked away, left in the dust of paths long gone, now found in worn cubbyholes of childhood knickknacks that he thought would never be found.

they’re labelled fragile, and of course you handle them with care; unwrapped with careful delicacy and a tenderness that makes his heart skip a beat. you revisit his journey in the form of mementos, a careful opening and closing of things that once were.

(he spends sleepless nights wondering why you make him feel as though he is everywhere and nowhere at the same time.)

the states of being lost and found blur at the space where your lips meet his, and he realizes that with you, he can be both. you accept him for who he was and who he is now, in all the pieces he left behind and parts he kept to this day.

just like that, lost becomes lost and found; wandering becomes home.

(he finds himself in the curl of your body against his, in the tangle of blankets and the warmth of your head on his neck.

and he falls asleep just fine.)


	7. stay (k. tobio)

amidst the shifting tides of life, people come and go like sand slipping between fingers. tobio doesn’t mind as much as he thought he would, though, more intent on chasing the horizon that lies beyond the ocean.

he always finds himself returning: the people that truly matter are found at the edge of the ocean—not the horizon, but where the sea kisses the shore.

(he must always return to where home is.)

today he is tiredness manifested, heavy footsteps trudging to your shared apartment. still, he goes through his routine, born from years of habit: put dirty clothes in the hamper, air out his kneepads in the balcony, take a light shower (but do it in the other room so as to not wake you). finally, the door to your bedroom opens with a creak, a line of amber light streaming into the dark. 

as he draws closer, he sees your figure begin to take shape, clarity growing as the distance shrinks. his side of the bed dips, and cool air whooshes under the blanket as he tucks himself under it. 

he doesn’t register just how tired today’s practice made him until his body sinks on the mattress. a soft sigh escapes his mouth. right now, he doesn’t want to do anything but rest, sleep, and maybe curl into you and cuddle until the sea washes away the heaviness in his bones.

(amidst the shifting tides, the ocean of your love is here to stay.)


	8. infinite (k. tetsurou)

each moment is finite yet infinite; line segments with a never-ending number of points in between. 

“i cannot believe you beat me to paying,” you grouch, tearing open the ice cream he had just treated you to.

“hey, don’t be like that, it’s a celebration for full marks on the methodology draft.”

“i was gonna treat us to ramen for that.”

“details, details,” he waves a hand, grinning at the way you scrunch your nose up at him. “better luck next time.”

you sigh, taking a bite off your stick. “never took you to be so eager to spend money. you’re usually a grinch.”

“hey, it’s just ice cream!”

“details, details,” you mock, grinning back up at him. “but seriously, thank you.” you nudge him, leaning your head on him affectionately. his heart rate picks up, fluttering to his throat.

the smile on his face softens when he tilts his head to look at you. “yeah. we make a good team.” you nod against his shoulder, and he catches a whiff of your perfume. he suppresses the urge to tuck away the strand that falls on your face.

(he’s almost sure he’ll spend the better part of the evening replaying this scene again and again in his head.)

he’s yet to find a real endpoint to how he feels; each interaction seems to push the affection even further. it’s a freefall to the unknown, a whoosh in his stomach that seems to know no end. it is equally terrifying as it is exhilarating: to chase after infinity despite being afraid of what it may entail.

for you, though, he may just be willing to risk it.

(there are many kinds of infinity, but kuroo thinks his favorite is how he feels when he is with you.)


	9. the cartography of your heart (t. yuuji)

they said, once, that to travel too far means to fall off the edge. yuuji thinks this is probably what they meant: his mind knows that the horizon is but an illusion, yet every other part of him screams at the precipice that seems all-too near.

“when are you taking me out, cutie?” he smiles teasingly. adoration crinkles the edges of his eyes when you laugh in response, the sound sending ripples of warmth throughout his body.

you have a little bit of a different approach.

yours is a quiet kind of love, more rational, an ideal kind of exploration complete with neatly inked out maps. you’re more careful, a little bit of method to his madness, the cartographer to his explorer. each time you’re with him, it’s a little bit more familiar, a little bit more like home.

“yuuji, darling, we’re already dating.” you shake your head in mock exasperation, yet the growing blush on your cheeks and the fondness if your eyes say otherwise.

“c’mon, babe. ask me out, i dare you.”

(never let it be thought that your roles are set in stone.)

“fine, fine—date this friday, handsome?” as you grab your bag, you send him a wink over your shoulder. just like that, he’s fallen all over again.

“you got it, babe.” after a few seconds, you both dissolve into fits of laughter.

for him, each day feels just like the first time. he can easily trace every pathway to your heart, yet he’d still rather get lost anyway.

in yuuji’s opinion, there’s no better way to wander.

he’ll map out every part of you, trace your entirety with whatever he pleases—eyes, hands, lips, maybe all three—until it is carved in the back of his mind. then he’ll burn its memory away, and start over.

you’re his treasure—you’ve marked your spot in his heart with a big, fat, all-encompassing red x—but nothing will ever change the rush of finding you again, and again, and again.

(if there’s anything he’ll never get tired of exploring, it’s you.)


	10. choice (k. tetsurou)

it’s no easy thing, loving in the long-term. it’s slow and steady; a task of building a home from the ground up. there are no shortcuts, no easy-way-out’s. peppered throughout are bumps and mishaps, along with times when it seems as though the love is nowhere to be found.

(on such days, look up the night sky: the stars are always there, just hidden behind the clouds.)

through it all you’ll have a home, a hearth, and blankets, with fingers knit together like handmade sweaters—it will keep the cold at bay. remember to always have firewood on hand: sparks fizzle out, but a well tended fire does not.

at night, he wraps himself around you, holding you close. you shift to curl up to his side, nose burrowing itself into his warmth. inhaling softly, he’s falls asleep with the scent of vanilla shampoo and home.

this is what loving is, he was once told: a constant effort to keep each other warm.

when he wakes up in the morning, there is a new choice to make. sometimes it is easy, other times difficult—but the answer forever remains the same.

every day, every second, every breath—you.

(this is what loving is: not just a feeling, but a choice.)


End file.
